I'm excited as soon as I wake up. Will the Sunday News present my article like Abernathy said it would? This thought makes me nervous; I can't stay still on a chair. I'm wondering if people will like it.

What am I even so anxious about? I'd better go to work before I get late again.

The New York streets are busier than ever this morning, even though the September wind dishevels all hair on its way.

"Special edition! All the details in the Sunday News and the New York Daily!" a newsboy yells in the streets, brandishing a journal. I follow the voice until I reach the newsboy and start talking to him as long as his clients are gone.

"Do you want a journal, Sir?" he asks me.

"Yes please. I'll have the Sunday News, please."

The boy beams at me. He takes my money and hands me the newspaper. I open it and... The boss did put my article first page. My heart is beating fast in my chest as I jog to the Sunday News headquarter.

I have lots of articles to edit, but my mind keeps wandering. I can't help but to ask myself how my article is liked.

Abernathy seems busy. I stand static before his door for the whole afternoon as I sink into the most anxious speculations. At some point, the boss leaves his office and scans the room.

"Michael! How is it going with the interview of the Prohibition Office?"

"We're still...preparing it..." the man replies.

"What is taking you so long? Hurry up!" Abernathy yells. "I don't have time to check over everyone. I'm tired of having to refuse your so-called articles!"

I look down and plunge into the pile of documents on my desk. If only I could disappear...

"Gerard."

I look up at Abernathy. "Yes, boss?"

Abernathy's face twists in a grin. "Our newspaper has reached its new highest sales record. We've even beaten the New York Daily! Gerard, you will accompany me to the press dinner of New York. It starts at 8 pm. Do not be late!"

Oh my God. Did I just get invited to a truly important event? "Y-yes Sir, that will be my pleasure!"

I hear the whispers of my unsatisfied coworkers.

"Uncle, you said you would take me! Why take this countryside boy? He doesn't belong in those kinds of places." A young intern whines.

Paul scoffed. "Do you really want Gerard 'the apostle of truth' to go to that gala?"

"Quiet! Gerard deserves it. Y'all keep your opinions to yourselves!" Abernathy silences all the protests. Oh wow. Can an article really affect the sales this much?

Abernathy pats my shoulder. "You don't seem to believe me, Gerard. My boy, nothing is impossible in New York!"

"I-I believe you! I just never went to a dinner like that before, I-"

"-You worry too much," Abernathy interrupts me. "Focus on your appearance. I will be there to help you."

"Y-yes Sir! I'll be there and I'll be ready."

The rest of the day goes by in the biggest blur. It's impossible for me to really register anything. I go home and put on my only decent outfit, a black three-piece suit with a bowtie. Though I start preparing myself two hours early, I end up being late as I didn't see time go by. It's 8:30 pm.

I try to go inside the facilities but two men in a black suit keep me from doing so.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Gerard Way, I'm a journalist for the Sunday News. I'm here for the dinner."

"Can I see your invitation?"

"My boss has our invitations. I just got to find him and ask him to show them to you."

Someone comes closer. A middle-aged man, in his late fifties judging by his grey hair, steps by my side. He is wearing a formal three-piece suit like most of us, a golden chain and rectangular glasses. He has a very warm aura.

"Oh, Mr. Way! Hey, do me a favor and let him through," the man told the two security guards.

"Oh, you are a friend of Mr. Williams? Please excuse my rudeness!" one security guard apologizes.

"Thank you, Sir. But, uh, how do you know me?" I ask to the stranger – Mr. Williams – who laughs.

"Who doesn't know Gerard Way after your article in the Sunday News! We are already very late, shall we keep discussing inside?"

I nod. "Of course!" He and I enter and land in a very wide room where all of New York's press finest decided to meet. There were crystal chandeliers, golden gildings and buffets with pyramids of champagne glasses.

People are scattered across the room, chatting by small groups with a glass in hand. I am immeasurably excited to be around such prominent people in the world of the media. My efforts are finally fruitful! This is a brand-new start for me!

"Gerard!" I recognize Abernathy's voice. He is standing next to one of those champagne pyramids, waving at me.

"Here you are, Sir." I walk to him and the man who stands by his side.

"James, I would like to introduce you to Gerard Way, the pride of the Sunday News. Gerard, this is James Adams, the chief editor of the New York Daily."

"Ah, the famous! Pleasure to meet you, Gerard. You can call me James." James and I shake hands.

"So how does it feel to lose sales, Jim? I hope you get used to it," Abernathy teases his friend. A waiter approaches my boss and whispers something in his ear. "Um... Excuse me for a minute." Abernathy scurries away.

There must be some urgent matter.

"Do you want some champagne, Mr. Way?" James asks me. "You don't get to taste a beverage that good every day!"

I am not in favor of the Prohibition, but aren't these people breaking the law in a slightly too obvious way?

"I read your article. Your writing style really moved me! A young, talented man like you should be given more opportunities. Here is my card." James hands me a piece of paper which I take and slide in one of my pockets.

"Thank you."

He and I keep making small talks until my boss comes back.

"Come with me, I must talk to you," Abernathy tells me. We salute James and isolate ourselves so we can talk with more privacy.

"What is it, boss?"

"You're fired, Gerard."

My heart drops and my blood runs cold in my veins. "...What?"

"You heard me. You're fired," Abernathy repeats with such impassiveness that it's shocking. He seems so casual, like he didn't just make my world collapse on an evening that should have asserted my victory.

"Wait, what? No. You were praising my article all day, you were complimenting me ten minutes ago!" I babble, confused. The more words make their way out, the more incoherent and unreal this situation appears to me. This is absurd!

"I don't want to have to repeat myself again, Gerard. You can come tomorrow to pack your things." Abernathy tries to leave. I'm shocked, I grab his sleeve.

"Please, wait. I don't understand! What happened?" I whine.

"I told you. Nothing is impossible in New York, Gerard Way. Let go of me. I don't want to have to make a scene and dishonor you more."

The panic in my voice draws a little attention around us. A few people witness the scene, smiling. My hand lets go of Abernathy's voice and my boss turns around.

I can't... I can't stay here any longer. I walk by the front door.

I shiver as I drag my feet in the night. The streets are unusually cold tonight.

I thought that I could find my place in the Sunday News as long as I could write good articles... But life is unpredictable. I just lost my job.

I should have listened to Mom and Dad, and Mikey. I shouldn't have come to New York City... All these months of hard work, lost. My hopes shattered in a matter of minutes. If nothing is impossible in New York, then why am I so unlucky?

I hear heavy steps behind myself, fearing the worst. Who can it be, so late at night? Could it be a robber? No, that's not possible. I'm just tired, sad and paranoid. It's just a random person.

I start walking faster but I hear the steps get closer to me. I'm more and more uncomfortable. Oh no, I'm being followed! I have to find a way out.

Suddenly, I hear a gunshot, not so far from here. I stop and look around. I notice a small street but decide to keep walking forward. I don't want to die today.

No, it can't be a gunshot, can it? I must be hallucinating...

I start running. Footsteps behind me keep getting closer. I'm on the verge of losing it and breaking under the weight of my fears. My palms are sweaty and I start shaking.

Where is everyone?! Why are the streets empty?

Just before my anxiety climaxes, I notice a man on the other side of the street, nearby. A few sparks appear in the night and the small flame of his lighter glows, projecting lights and shadows on his face for a brief moment until he turns off the lighter.

I notice his long, dark trench coat that almost reaches his ankles, his suit and the cigarette hanging from his lips. The man is looking down, his expression is undecipherable.

I muster what's left of my strength and rush towards him. I ball my fists tightly to calm down before I call him. I hold onto his arm and call for his help. "Please, Sir, an odd person is following me. Help me, please!"

The man puffs out the smoke of his cigarette. He looks at me, visibly irritated. It seems that I've broken his train of thoughts.

"I'm so sorry Sir, but I don't have any other choice. Please help me," I insist, panicking. I freeze when he smiles at me and wonder if I made the right choice.

The stranger takes the time to take another drag of his cigarette. He slowly blows out the smoke before protectively wrapping an arm around my shoulders as if he knew me, like a parasol in the middle of the night.

"Calm down, dear. I won't let you on your own." He genuinely smiles at me and my heart flutters a little. He and I walk to a car and he tells me to get in. He could have simply pretended to know me... why does he want me to get inside his car?

The man seems to notice my hesitation. A sly smile appears on his face.
"Aren't your feet tired, my dear nurse?"

The dots connect in my brain at the second he calls me that, and I look at him in proper lightning. That man is the one I came across in the Metropolitan Hospital! Hannah's cousin, if I remember well.

"You?" My face shows genuine surprise. What are the odds! He flashes a little amused smile at me and I get inside the black Ford.

I finally feel safe and start to relax. I quickly scan the man a little more. His eyes are golden like two drops of honey, topped by gravely furrowed eyebrows. He is wearing quite fancy-looking clothes – although from my point of view, everything obviously seems fancy – but they don't seem to be worn in the intend to show off.

There is nothing ostentatious about this man, except maybe from the elegant golden chain connected to his pocket watch. His leather gloves, for instance, seem like a practical piece of clothing.

Now that I think about it, he doesn't seem to be so much older than me. He undeniably is, but not by that much that is. But it seems that he is very mature – or maybe is he just a little bit too grave. If I had to take a guess, I would say that he is in his late twenties.

"Ow, my feet hurt..." I complain softly.

"Where do you live?" The man asks as he drives.

"In Queens. Just drop me near Park Avenue, it will be fine."

He chuckled softly. "It's not safe to walk around at night, alone and unarmed. Do you want to be in the news, tomorrow?"

"I live near the park, there shouldn't be any incident."

"As you wish, but from what I understood, there was nearly an incident." The man nods.

I look at the window, framed with fogging, and let out, "I am not really a nurse – just letting you know to avoid any misunderstanding."

"Oh, I know," the man simply lets out. I look at him, frowning. He was still looking at the road.

"How did you guess, though? Because I was a man in a dress, or because it was that obvious that I had no idea of what I was doing?" I attempt to joke to lighten the mood.

The man shakes his head lightly, his eyes on the road and his expression completely unaltered. "Because you showed genuine compassion towards the patients."

These words resonate in my mind like a bitter lament. The tone was neutral, but the word translated a bit of disapproval of what we both witnessed. The rest of the drive goes in an awkward silence.

"Thank you for taking me home! I'm Gerard Way. It was a pleasure to meet you," I tell the man as soon as he parks the Ford.

"Frank Iero. My pleasure." The man nods formally. He is so detached, he doesn't seem interested in getting to know me at all. We will surely never meet again.

"Go home. I will, too." Mr. Iero is wearing one of his gentle, patronizing smiles.

"Thanks again! Without you, that thief would have gotten me!" I smile gratefully.

"This man wasn't a thief, my dear nurse," Mr. Iero says, serious all of a sudden although there is a slight, indescribable hint of amusement in his demeanor.

"What? Who was it, then?" I frown.

Mr. Iero leaves without answering my question. Why didn't he? Why act so mysterious?

Alright, it's time to go home. Tomorrow, I have to work on finding another job. The sooner the better.

______